“You surprise me,” he says, picking up his glass again.
“How’s that?”
“When I first saw your pictures, I expected . . . let’s say I didn’t expect you.”
When I went to pick it up, I certainly didn’t expect you either.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I flush.
“It is most definitely a compliment. You’re quite a woman—smart, gorgeous, witty.”
My cheeks heat at his confession. I’ve been told all of those things before, but never with that sincerity and never from a man like him. I’m not sure there is another man like him. He makes my clothing want to combust without a word, yet when he adds language to the mix, it only makes it better.
“What’s on your finger?” he asks.
I glance at my hand. On the inside of my pointer finger on my right hand is an open heart. Presley has one, too. It’s our ode to the best friend heart necklaces we used to give our friends when we were little girls. One night after a bottle or two of wine, we hired an Uber driver to take us to the tattoo parlor and got them.
“This?” I ask, holding it up for him to see. “It’s a heart.”
“What’s it for?”
“Presley has one, too. It was a random decision late one night. When I look at it, I smile. I think of her and her loyalty and the laughs we share. It’s our thing, you know?”
A dark shadow flitters across his face. I’m intrigued, but don’t ask.
“Presley—she’s your best friend?”
“Yeah, strangely. We don’t really have that much in common, other than we like each other,” I laugh. “Do you have friends like that?”
He shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “No, I don’t. But I like what you just said.”
“What’s that?”
“That all you have in common is that you like each other. I like that.”
“It more poetic than true, really. We both like the beach and we both like vodka,” I laugh.
“All the makings of a true friendship.”
“Definitely. But some days, I really think that’s all we have. She’s never worked a day in her life and never will. Her father owns some big corporation of some sort and they are loaded beyond comprehension. My family isn’t poor by any means, but my parents have always made me have a job. They said it’s character building.”
“I agree. Hard work purifies the soul.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I’d rather be purifying my soul teaching and not working for minimum wage at a bookstore.”
“Ah, don’t knock books,” he says, pretending to grimace.
“I’m not knocking books. Just the pay scale.”
He laughs and begins to slice his steak again. “I love to read. Always have. I remember reading The Iliad in fifth grade and never looked back.”
I file that snippet away for later. If there is a later.
I look at him and grin.
Please be a later.
He nods before pulling in his brows. He leans back and pulls his phone out of his pocket. His features tighten and he glances up at me. “I realize how rude this is, but this is a call that I’ve been waiting on for a week. I really need to answer.”
“Go, please . . .”
He stands and jets off to the other side of the room. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can tell it isn’t a pleasant conversation. His hand runs through his hair, his shoulders stiffening more and more as the conversation goes on. Despite being obviously angry, he’s still hot as hell. Maybe hotter, actually. His body moves so powerfully, so confidently, the suit flexing and moving around his body like it was made for it. Maybe it was.
He slips the phone into his pocket and turns his back to me, pausing for a few long seconds before facing me again. He comes towards the table, the frustration melting into a grin that, in turn, melts me.
“I hate to say this, trust me when I say that, but I have to get to the office. I—”
“It’s okay,” I say, rushing to stand. I smooth my dress down and try to play off my piercing disappointment. I can’t look him in the face for fear he’ll see just how much.
I inhale a deep breath of his musky scent and commit it to memory.
There will not be a later.
“It’s not okay,” he groans. “I’m not happy about this and if there was any way at all I could get around it, I would. But it’s something that requires my immediate attention.”
He tilts his head to study my face. I don’t look away. I just let him see what he wants.
“One of the pleasures of being everyone’s boss?” I ask.
“Something like that.” He bites his lip before releasing it with a flourish. “Are you going away with Presley this week?”
“Not this week. I have to work.”
He takes a deep breath and holds it. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh really?”
My stomach twirls with anticipation. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but the glimmer in his eye tells me to hold on tight.
“I have a business trip this week. I’d like you to go with me.”
What?
I furrow my brows, sure I’ve misunderstood him. Yet when I look up, I can see a twinge of uncertainty hidden just beneath the surface.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
His face darkens, the uncertainty gone. “I’d like you to accompany me this week. It would be a few days out of town. I’ll take care of everything. Just join me.”
“I . . . I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I take a large gulp of air and it does nothing to calm my thundering heartbeat. I have no idea why he thinks this is a good idea, but even after spending the last hour or so with him, I still barely know him. Do I like him? Yes. Absolutely. Would I have gone home with him? Again—without a doubt. But out of town? That’s entirely different.
“I really can’t. I have to work,” I say, keeping it simple.
“I’ll double your pay.”
“Fenton—”
“Triple it. Quadruple it.” He steps closer to me, pulling me even more into his realm. “When I saw your picture this morning, there was something in your eyes that reeled me in. Yes, you’re insanely beautiful. And now I know you’re intelligent and funny. But there’s still something behind those blue—or is it green?—eyes that I want to discover.”
He takes another step to me until our bodies are nearly touching. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m being obliterated by everything about this man and his proximity. He knows it. He’s using it to his advantage.
“Just come, Brynne,” he says huskily.
“I have to work.”
“I’ll pay you more than you’d make all month to call in sick and go with me.”
His words shock me back to the present. It sounds so cheap. So immoral. So hot, yes, but still.
“Listen, if I didn’t just get that call, you and I both know what would’ve happened after dinner.” His eyelids hood, his lips pressing together in an undeniable smirk. He leans in, his breath glancing my skin. “And you’d’ve loved every fucking second of it. I promise.”
I gasp, more from his bluntness than it being some revelation. Because what he said is true. Or I hope it would’ve been true. I think. Maybe.
Shit.
Heat pools between my legs. I clench my thighs together to try to ease the ache that’s growing out of control. The way he’s looking at me only intensifies the throb—like he’s going to devour me.
Please. Do.
“Am I wrong?” His question is more of a taunt than an actual inquiry. And one that I don’t feel needs answered because it’s pretty self-explanatory by the energy between us right now. I know his cock is hard for me; I saw him adjust it. So of course he isn’t freaking wrong.
“Are you serious right now?” I ask.
“Serious as a heart attack, rudo.”
His fingertips find the side of my face. They lazily draw from my temple down my ch
eek, across my jaw, and down my neck. My skin feels like it’s on fire, my entire body heated to the point of explosion. He pins me in place with his grey eyes.
“Are you denying it? You think you wouldn’t go home with me tonight? Do you want to pretend you’re not wondering what I’d feel like slipping inside you? Because I know you are. You want me so badly you can’t think of anything else. And right now, my cock is so fucking hard for you I’m tempted to toss you across that chair over there and indulge.”
I gasp.
He snickers.
“Go with me,” he whispers.
“As what? A fuck buddy?”
He watches me carefully, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t think of it like that.”
“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“I despise that term.” He leans back and changes tactics. “Our timing tonight is terrible and I have a trip this week anyway. So why not use it to spend time together.”
If his phone hadn’t rung and the night had played out, I would’ve gone home with him, for free, if he offered. Hell, I’d probably have skipped all the way there. And as I look him in the face, see the desire laced wickedly through the grey specks of his irises, I feel my resolve wane.
“Think of it this way,” he says, taking a different approach. “I’m simply acknowledging your time is valuable and that you’ll be missing work. Your presence is worth it, a commodity, of sorts.”
“So I’m your secretary, for lack of a better word?”
“Sure,” he shrugs. “You’re my employee for the week. Your job is to entertain yourself while I’m working during the day and entertain me when I’m not.”
Every synapse in my brain misfires, wetness pooling between my legs. He watches me try to rein it in, his lips pursed together in a “job well done” sort of way. I can’t even smart something off because I can’t think about anything other than him touching me, kissing me, his cock driving inside me.
“So that’s a yes?”
I want to agree. I desperately want to agree. But as I shake my head, the fog lifts just enough for me to realize the potential problems with this situation . . . and the possibility that I may not be as willing to go away with a stranger when I’m not standing in front of him so keyed up. I have to be smart. As impossible, and stupid, as it seems, I have to say no.
“No, Fenton. That’s a no.”
He steps back, a look of disbelief on his face. “What?”
“I can’t go with you. I’m sorry.”
Turning on my heel, I head to the door. I have to get away, get some air, before I succumb to him. I’m just a hairbreadth away now. One touch from him and I’ll be a goner, agreeing to everything he says, complying with everything he asks.
My hand is on the door when his voice rings through the air. “Brynne?”
“Yeah?”
“When you change your mind, call me.”
“Are you nuts?” Presley stands in the doorway to my room, her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Brynne. You told him no?”
“Yes, I told him no,” I hiss, my unrelieved sexual tension starting to get the best of me. “What was I supposed to do? Agree to basically be a prostitute? Yeah—no, thanks.”
I take off the heels and toss them in Presley’s direction. They land with an unceremonious thud.
“While I respect your sudden bout of ethics,” Presley exaggerates, “I really think you’re overthinking this.”
Catching her eye in the mirror over my bureau, I scoff. “I’m sure you do.”
She flounces across the room and plops on my bed. The backboard hits the wall as she rearranges the pillows and makes herself comfortable.
“I’m going to get out of this dress.” I disappear into my closet and slip out of the dress and into a robe that I use when I’m not feeling well. I have a feeling after I process all of this, I may not be the best I’ve ever been. My head is still in a fog, still reeling over the way Fenton looked at me. It’s as if my brain has a timer and every four-point-six seconds a recollection of his smirk or his laugh will fire through my mind. And then reality hits that I was there with him and he asked me to go away and I said no.
Pure. Frustration.
When I return to my room, Presley’s tucked under my yellow comforter.
“Comfy?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t answer me, so I glance over my shoulder. She’s watching the lights below us twinkle through the window. It’s a perk of living on a hill overlooking a valley.
“How did you end up with the better room? The feng shui is so much better in here.”
“Because you had a mini-meltdown about the sun coming in and waking you in the mornings, remember? So because I have to get up and go to work every day, I took this room.”
“Oh. Yeah. Good point,” she grimaces. “Mornings aren’t my thing.”
“We know.”
I climb up the mattress and lie beside my best friend. She seems completely at ease, but I recognize the glimmer in her eyes. I could just bring it up, say Fenton’s name, and she’d pick up the topic and run with it. But I don’t because I’m not even sure how I feel about it. I know how I should feel about it.
After a long while, Presley can’t take it anymore. “So . . .”
“So . . .”
“Damn it, Brynne. Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, my friend, there is. There most certainly is.”
I sag against the mountainous stack of pillows behind my head. A deep tear of uncertainty sits squarely on my shoulders. I expected as the night wore on that I would either feel good about my decision or would regret it on an epic level. I don’t feel either way.
“Why couldn’t I have lost my phone in the bananas?” She squirms around until she’s sitting up. “If I did, some old man with a receding hairline would’ve found it! Not a freaking cover model.” Her long hair swishes side to side as she shakes her head. “But no, you have to lose it and have Mr. Orgasm find it. You, of all people. You, the one that won’t reap the benefits of your luck!”
“Pres . . .”
“This is the universe trying to repay you for all the shit it’s thrown at you. Think about it. Karma just tossed the sexiest man I’ve ever feasted my eyes on, and I’ve seen some cute guys in my time, your way. He. Wants. You. If karma had fingers, she’d have put a bow on it.”
A depressed sigh escapes my lips. “I really do have to work, for one thing. And for two, it’s the way he propositioned me. It’s not that I don’t want him,” I groan. “It’s . . . he offered me money, Presley.”
“Can’t you just look at it like he knows you’ll be missing work and he’s just trying to be a nice guy? I mean, was he a dick during dinner? Was he ever rude or condescending?”
“No.”
“See?” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “You probably just mentioned that you were saving for school or something, so he feels bad about taking you away from work. And money isn’t an issue for him . . .”
My head whips to the side. Guilt is heavy on her face. “What did you do?”
“I just called Nick, my daddy’s security guy, and had him run a check on Fenton.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Do you really think I was going to let you scamper off not knowing anything about him at all? Come on, Brynne.”
I don’t want to ask what Nick found, but I’m way too curious not to. “Well?”
“He just did a quick check because I caught him in the middle of something . . . and it wasn’t me going on the date, no offense,” she cringes, “But Fenton owns Ruma—”
“He owns the restaurant?” I gulp. I knew he was loaded, or I assumed that, anyway, but Ruma is the hottest place in the city. That’s big.
“Yup. I didn’t know that either. Apparently he’s a silent partner or something. But he owns that, is a shareholder in a Vegas casino, and something else. Maybe a fishing boat?”
“A fishing boat?” I laugh.<
br />
She giggles. “I may not have been paying a lot of attention after Nick said he was clear. But the point of the matter is that he has a completely clean record. There’s nothing but good marks or whatever on his record, so he’s safe.”
“Safe. Right.”
Presley wrestles around in the sheets until she’s on her side and facing me. She presses her lips together. “You can feel good about this. He’s . . . your rebound.”
“I don’t want a rebound, P.”
“Everyone needs a rebound. And you haven’t really done much of anything since Grant. You need a good fling to ease you back into the dating world again. And what better way to do that than to get bent with Fent?”
My jaw drops and I shoot her a look of disbelief. “Did you really just say that?”
“I did,” she laughs. “Do you see what I’m saying though? It’s just a mini-vacation with a super hot guy.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and let my memory settle on the way the corner of his lip quirked as he watched me talk. The intensity of his gaze and the way it made my body heat from the inside out washes over me. My skin nearly burns with the memory.
“It’s a rebound,” I hesitate, tasting the words.
“Just a rebound . . .” she echoes.
A rebound I can handle. A rebound I’ve done before. It’s just a segue from one guy to the next. I have had a hard time moving on from Grant’s trashing of my self-esteem. If I’m being truthful, there’s not a better way to forget Grant than with Fenton.
When I look at Pres, she’s grinning ear-to-ear. “It’s just a way to boomerang from before,” she motions with her hand, “to after.”
“It’s not a bad idea . . .”
“Not a bad idea?” She collapses onto her back and sighs dramatically. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever heard! Every girl needs a rebound, and you, naturally, are rebounding better than anyone I know. Most people pick a decent looking guy in a bar covered in tattoos that’s the antithesis of the guy she had. You go all out and get the smokin’ businessman. I have to say,” she laughs, “I’m proud. Jealous as feck, but proud.”
Wherever It Leads Page 4
